Closure
by Jenny70529
Summary: Sara and Grissom face death. Saracentric. GSR Angst, Sandle. Character Death.


_A/N: Just a short that came to me while watching POTC 3 Thursday night. No, I'm not sure how POTC 3 made me have this idea, but my mind works in mysterious ways. It's a one-shot, set in the future, post season 8, post GSR. It's mostly Sara-centric, with a bit of GSR angst and Sandle thrown in for good measure. Warning: Character Death (but do you expect any less from me?). _

_No beta, so all mistakes (and trust me, there's always mistakes) will be mine and mine alone._

_I love reviews, they make me very happy. I like to be happy. Don't you want me to be happy? _

_Jenny_

**Closure:**

"Do you love him?"

Sara looked up from her grimy, dirt-caked hands surprise evident on her face. She hadn't been aware that Grissom had been awake, much less staring intently at her. With a heavy sigh, she wrapped her arms around her knees tightly, mumbling, "This really isn't the time or the place to be having this discussion."

"We're going to die here, Sara, I think it's as good a time as any."

She trembled slightly, hearing the pain and fatigue in her supervisor's voice as he tried to maintain his calm, stoic appearance. She knew him well enough after all of these years to know better, to hear the pain in his voice, etched on his face…she shook her head slightly, trying to ignore the stab of pain in her heart at his obvious lack of trust. You'd think after everything they'd been through together, they'd at least be able to trust each other.

Of course, she never thought she'd be in another work-related near-death situation again, yet here she was, trapped under a collapsed building with no way to reach the outside world, next to her boss and ex-lover, who was seriously injured with injuries she could only hope were not fatal.

Although by the amount of blood he had lost and the pallor of his face, it was likely they were.

This was not how things were supposed to have turned out. It was a very simple case, a domestic disturbance, and they had nearly finished up their investigation. If only they weren't _so_ thorough…

There had been a single drop of blood near the cellar door, and Sara had insisted they check it out, although Grissom countered they had more than enough evidence for a conviction. That should have been the first clue that something wasn't right, Grissom never turned his back on evidence. Nevertheless, she had argued with him until he had no choice but to process the cellar or spend the night arguing with stubborn Sara.

The moment they walked down the stairs, they knew they were dealing with something more serious than a domestic dispute. At the base of the staircase were two children, in advanced stages of decomposition, and a few feet further, a newly deceased female teenager. Sara had called for backup while Grissom descended the stairs to investigate, but as he reached the bottom stair, an explosion was heard from the floor above, and debris began to rain down on the two of them, forcing them both to find a place to take cover. As the chaos died down, they found themselves trapped in a sea of debris.

Six hours later, there was no indication that help was on its way, or that anyone even knew they were down there.

Sara watched as Grissom slipped back into unconsciousness, sweat glistening on his pale face as he shuddered to take each weak breath. She wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to comfort him, but with the limited space, it would be impossible to do so. A mere inch above her head laid one of the rafters from the cellar's ceiling, and her arms were pinned to her sides by other debris that had showered upon them. Grissom was close enough to reach, had she the ability to do so, although he was covered from the waist down in a mountain of wood and brick. She wasn't sure how bad his injuries were, and when she had questioned him, he had indicated they were serious, although he wasn't certain how serious they were. Of course, he may not have wanted to show his weakness to her. He may not have wanted to worry her. Nevertheless, she knew they needed help, and fast.

Closing her eyes, she took a few calming breaths, wishing for nothing more than some aspirin to calm the throbbing in her head. She hadn't been injured in the blast, aside from a minor bump to the head, nothing compared to what her partner had been through. It pained her more to know that Grissom wasn't doing so well, and that the longer it took help to arrive, the more likely it was that he would bleed to death under the rubble.

Their breakup had been simple and friendly, which didn't really surprise her too much. Neither of them were emotional and wordy, and both had known their relationship was hitting a troubled patch. First it had been Lady Heather and Grissom's involvement both personally and in her case. Then she had been abducted and left to die in the Nevada desert. After her rescue, she had a hard time adjusting to normal day-to-day life, and finally it had built up to a point where she couldn't ignore the problem any more. She had taken some time off work, ended her relationship with Grissom, and worked hard to mend the broken bridges in her life.

As she sat trapped between boards, unable to pry her eyes from Grissom's struggling form, she wondered if it had all been in vain. Did she really put her life back together just to have it ripped apart once more? Did Greg know she was missing? Did the others? Were they upstairs trying to dig their way to the cellar? Or had Ecklie not granted them permission to postpone other cases? Were they worried? Did they think she and Grissom were dead? Or were they optimistic that once again they'd save one of their own from death's icy grip?

Would she ever go out with Nick and Warrick again? Spat with Catherine? Would she ever get to feel Greg's warm lips pressing against hers again? If she had known the last kiss would possibly be the last, she would have let it last as long as humanly possible. If she had known she may never see her friends, her makeshift family, once more, there were so many things she could have told them. Thoughts and feelings that she had never retreated from her quiet shell enough to proclaim. Did Warrick and Nick know she considered them brothers? Did Catherine know how much respect she had for her? Did Brass know that she really _did_ appreciate him looking out for her when she needed it? Did Greg truly know how important he was to her?

She bowed her head as sobs shook her body, moisture mixing with dirt and dust as it rolled down her cheeks. Grissom was more than just her boss, her ex-boyfriend. He was a close friend, one of the few people she had let inside her intimate space. She had trusted in him, confided in him, _loved_ him, and for what? Certainly not for the two of them to suffocate or exsanguinate in the cellar of a crime scene. He had told her once that he wanted to be warned of his death, to have one last chance to live his life…and now, it was being ripped from him before her very eyes.

She opened her eyes once more, wiping away her tears and studying Grissom's still body. His chest struggled to rise with every raspy breath he took, sweat dripping from his pale white face. She wished she could take his pain away, but to remove the pain would be to remove life, and she wasn't ready to make that sacrifice yet.

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time she tried to hold them back. Crying wouldn't solve anything, she had to remain strong, remain calm. They had all been in bad situations before, and they all had pulled through. Miracles did happen, and the grave shift of the Las Vegas Crime Lab could attest to that. This time would be no different, they could make it out…she just had to have faith in her coworkers, in the rescue team.

As if fueled by her effort at a positive attitude, she began to hear a scratching sound overhead. Someone _did_ know they were down here; someone _was_ going to rescue them.

"Grissom."

Her voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, but it managed to rouse him from his slumber. Looking into his weak and weary eyes, she nodded towards the layers of debris above them, "Do you hear that?"

Grissom gave a weak nod, his eyes rolling back slightly as he struggled to remain conscious. Reaching out as far as he could, he placed a shaky hand on her foot, giving it a light squeeze. At this gesture, Sara couldn't hold back her tears any longer. He was dying, right in front of her, and he was trying to comfort _her_. Such an action was rarely seen in their relationship, much less now that they had separated.

"Just stay strong Grissom." Sara pleaded through tears, "We're going to make it out of here, maybe a little banged up, but alive, do you hear me? Alive."

His response was a weak nod, before his eyes closed once more, his breathing became shallower, his skin changing from a sickly white to a pasty grey. She started to sob in earnest, pleading quietly that they'd make it in time to save her friend. She had already watched several people die in her lifetime, and she wasn't about to go through that agony again.

"Grissom, you have to fight, stay strong, you can beat this." She whispered, letting her eyes close once more, the throbbing in her head becoming almost too much to handle. Mentally she berated herself for even thinking of her own headache when Grissom was in far worse shape. In the silence, she mentally vowed that once she was out of this cellar, things were going to be different. People didn't get the chance to escape death, much less twice. As workers clamored away above her, she began to make a mental checklist: She'd amend her relationship with Catherine, spend more time with Nick and Warrick, play a round of chess with Grissom, visit her mother in prison. But first and foremost, she was going to wrap her arms around Greg's neck and tell him just how much she loved him.

The hand on her foot went limp, and she let out a whelp of surprise, her attention immediately going back to the issue at hand.

"Grissom, Grissom wake up."

She felt her heart rate soar as he remained motionless, quietly urging herself to find some way to move, some way to get close enough to check his vitals. His breathing was slow, if even existent, and he was quickly running out of time. Nudging him slightly with her foot, she was relieved to see his chest rise and fall once more, although his breathing was now ragged and labored. He needed to be rescued. He needed a doctor. He needed a miracle.

She covered her face as the pile of debris shifted overhead, sending a wave of dust and dirt cascading down over the two of them. At her feet, Grissom coughed and wheezed, unable to block his own airway from the soot. Her eyes burned as dirt gave way to sunshine, relief flooding through her veins as she heard the shouts from workers above.

"I'm CSI Sidle with CSI Grissom, he needs medics!" Sara shouted, her voice strained, "He's trapped, he's losing blood, he's barely breathing!"

She couldn't decipher their response, although by the tone used, she knew it had to be good news. They were being rescued, they were going to be fine. She nudged Grissom once more, "Gris. Grissom, they're here. They're going to get us out of here."

She was met with silence.

"Grissom? Damn it, Grissom! Just hold on, they're coming right now, they're going to get you help, Grissom!"

Her only response was a small shallow breath from Grissom, followed by an agonizing 38 seconds of stillness. She grew dizzy as he struggled to take another breath, her fear so intense that it was nearly palatable.

13 shaky breaths later, the rescue workers were pulling the large piece of wood from above her head, letting a rush of cool air blow across her face. Later, she'd remember that to be one of the top favorite feelings of her lifetime.

"Grissom, you've got to get him out." Sara panted as the worker reached for her hand, "He's hurt badly; he's going to die."

"Give me your hand!" The worker shouted, "We're going to come back for him, but we need to get you out of here. The structure's not stable; we need to go as quickly as possible. My colleagues are going to dig him out, but we need to get you to safety first."

The next few moments were a blur to Sara as she was hoisted from the rubble, placed on shaky legs once they reached the grass. Her knees buckled and she felt herself falling towards the ground, only to be caught by a nearby paramedic, who eagerly led her to a nearby ambulance.

She watched the rescue workers in a daze as her paramedic began to assess her injuries. She could hear her coworkers in the distance demanding to be let through the crime scene tape, although as relieved as she was to hear their voices, she knew she wouldn't even want to see them until she knew Grissom was alright.

The pulled him up on a stretcher, and only then could Sara see the extent of his injuries. His body, from his waist down, resembled hamburger meat, what was remaining of his clothing ripped and bloody. They placed the stretcher on the ground and several paramedics rushed towards him, speaking in lingo Sara couldn't fully understand. It was only once they pulled out the paddles that Sara realized things had gone from bad to worse for Grissom.

Jumping off her own gurney, Sara rushed towards Grissom, sobbing loudly. Careful not to disturb the working paramedics, she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, "No! No Grissom! You can't do this to me! You can fight this; you aren't going to die this way. This isn't your way to go!"

She was so caught up in her own tirade that she didn't notice the paramedics as they stopped resuscitation attempts. It wasn't until she felt the paramedic who had been looking after her pulling her away that she realized he was gone. Jerking away from the sympathetic man, she turned her attention back towards her colleague, her boss, her friend. Her legs began to shake as she squeezed his hand, "Grissom, oh Grissom…please, no!"

"Miss, you need to step back, we need to assess your injuries-"

"No!" Sara screamed, shaking Grissom by his shirt, "No Grissom, you can't do this! I won't let you!"

Another set of footprints approached her, and without having to look, she knew who they belonged to. Turning her attention back to Grissom, she leaned over, placing a soft kiss on his forehead as she whispered, "Yes. I do. I do love him."

On trembling legs, she turned and collapsed into Greg's waiting arms. As her legs gave way, he slid to the ground with her, letting her bury her head in his neck as she mourned the loss of a boss, a lover, a confidant, and most of all, a friend.

_The End._


End file.
